The few who lived
by Lizella
Summary: and saw what they did and how they quit this world, like heros or like cowards - are all deaths the same and it is the same kind of love that drives their deeds!
1. Cornelius or Two Lists

Authors note: I was inspired today, actually by another great fanfic which somewhere beheld such a list. And I came to think about it. Okay, so my story begins 5 years after the great battle, which (of course) took place in the 7th book (which unfortunately has not been written yet). So all people included are (hopefully) in the character they got up to book 5. Still I do not own any of them. JKR does and always will. Oh and sorry for the list of the people I killed off. So, on with the show!

Cornelius Fudge was fearful today, as he was always these days. In those five fateful years he had lost quite a lot of weight, not due to a diet of any sorts. His hair had prevented from going white only by falling out. His eyes had become smaller, and a nervous habit of twitching his left lid had taken on. He felt like a clown mostly, still in his once well-liked clothes, even his lime-green bowler had remained. Though it could not hide the persona of a man who had in his fear cowered and so doomed the whole wizardkind. He was the man who had stepped beside and let Voldemort take the chance to reign again, even more powerful than 22 years before. And he knew it. Oh yes, he did. As did his employees. Some admired him. Some hated him. Most pitied him. But all of them would have done the same, if they had faced the decision.

In his twitching hands he held a paper containing the names of all those who had opposed the Dark Lord. Who had stood and fought against him. Who could (by any means) not be convinced to join. Who had lost friends, family members and body parts to a fight not to be won. Who were forced to hide, disguise themselves, live in the muggle world. Who were hunted down, not only by the death eaters (who were the elite these days) but also by ministry officials (who did as they were told to). Who knew they could never suceed and still fought on, having nothing left to loose except for their lives, which did not seem to matter much any more. Who if they were caught would face a torture after which Avada Kedavra would seem like a sweet blessing.

In his other hand he held the second list. It held the names of those foolish heroes who had already died for a cause that would never again be. A list of wizards and witches who had given their best, fought like true heroes, shunned no pain to suceed...and had failed. And his hand trembled slightly, because he knew...knew that this list was much longer, that there were names on it that once had symbolized hope. And that each name more on it meant a dimmishing of the little spark of hope he still held. Most of them held. Being too cowardly, too much afraid, to do anything themselves...except for hoping.

He tried not to, but still his eyes reread the names on this list, unable to keep from seing facts he knew by heart already. Those neatly written names, alphabetically ordered, with a single word written over them "DECEASED"

Chang, Cho

Delacour, Fleur

Dumbledore, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian

Figg, Arabella

Filch, Argus

Hagrid, Rubeus

Longbottom, Serena

Pomfrey, Poppy

Potter, Harold James

Shacklebold, Kingsley

Tonks, Nymphadora

Weasley, Bill

Weasley, Charlie

Weasley, George

Weasley, Molly

Weasley, Ronald

The parchment fell onto the floor. He had let it drop, his hands had been shaking so badly. Better pick it up quickly or the Dark Lord would be mad. His back ached as he bent downwards, he was getting old and tired. He picked up the parchment and laid it back onto the large wooden desk. The other list. His eyes were drawn to it, as if searching for a light, wanting, needing some reassurance that there were some left. Those who fought. The title simply read "WANTED". Noone knew how he meant that.

Fletcher, Mundungus

Granger, Hermione

Longbottom, Neville

Lovegood, Luna

Lupin, Remus John

Malfoy, Draco

McGonagall, Minerva

Moody, Alastor

Snape, Severus

Trelawney, Sybill

Weasley, Arthur

Weasley, Fred

Weasley, Virginia

He clutched to the list as if his life depended on it. In fact it did. These names, were just letters of black ink written on white parchment to some. But he knew what they really were. Hope. No, not for himself. There was no hope left for himself. Not that he deserved any. But the wizarding world did. 13 Names – what irony – 13 fighters, the only ones left. Their only hope.

Me again: What do you say? If you like it this is going to turn into a really big story (well for me anyway). So be nice and review and you will get to see those wonderful 13 heroes!


	2. The survivors

Authors note: So here I am. I really was a quick updater this time. Unusual for me. But I had the feeling I just had to write this, so here you get a sort of insight on the (not mine, you know) 13 characters, how they have changed in those 5 fateful years and how they have remained the same. Okay, so this is no romance fiction of any sorts, I still have to declare a few ships, right now we have GW/DM and LL/NL and an almost invisible HG/SS.

The small room wasnt really a spectacular sight. In fact it was rather shabby, grey greasepaint falling off, a waterspot in one corner. The only pieces of furniture were an old oaken table and 13 wooden chairs usually equipped by an equal number of people. There were no paintings, no moving pictures, nothing personal or homely. Noone could have guessed which kind of people would meet here, even that any still visited this place, if it hadnt been for the lack of dust on the table and the chairs.

In a corner sat a short man who seemed not to have shaved in a very long time. His long straggly, once ginger hair was in the process of greying quickly. His shabby brown coat was covered in dust. His bloodshot, baggy eyes were half closed and he was snoring loudly, accompanied by spreading a strong smell of alcohol and tobacco, probably due to the emptied bottle of Odgens Old Firewhisky still firmly gripped by his right hand.

Next to the table was a wizard, seated in between his last two remaining children. His tall slender body seemed somewhat hunched. On his light brown robes a spot could be seen where he had forcefully ripped off a patch declaring he was a member of the ministry of magic. Not any more. There were only a few red streaks of hair left, most had fallen out rapidly. His dark brown eyes constantly darted from his right to his left and back again.

His right hand gently stroked the red, shoulder-length hair of the sleeping form of his only daughter. Her freckles now stood out oddly against her pale face. He knew she was seing Draco Malfoy, but he did not have the heart to forbid it. He had never been good at such stuff. It had always been Molly who had dressed the children down when they had done something wrong. He always had been the kind, forgiving father. Molly! But his Molly was not here any longer. He still detested the entire Malfoy clan, even if Draco had proven himself loyal. But then he watched his daughter, he did this often these days, always keeping an eye on his two children, afraid he could loose them too. She had lost so many boyfriends to this war. It probably was not love of any sorts she felt for the blonde Slytherin. He had asked her once, why she did it. She had regared him then, with eyes way too young to have this look in them and told him: "I want to feel, Dad. Even if it is just for a few minutes, seconds even. And he can make me feel alive. That is all I want." He had accepted it. After all, he understood. And a tiny bit of him was jealous, knowing that he could never feel again.

His other hand held that of his son Fred. There was no twin left to confuse him with. The boys eyes restlessly darted around the room as if awaiting George to just pop out of the wall and shout "April Fool". Which of course never happened. He had stopped growing and instead lost weight. His red hair was longer now and hid most of his face, except for the brown eyes, which had lost their youthful sparkle. He was quieter, seing no need in joking any more. He had given up their joke shop immediately after Georges death, not being able to invent any more items for making teachers lifes harder. None of them had an easy life these days.

On the left edge of the table a tall, extremely skinny woman was seated. Her shiny, dangling necklaces and earrings seemed awfully out of place. Through her enlargening glasses she constantly stared at the emptied cup of tea in front of her. Her hands were shaking immensely as she swinged the tea leaves muttering "it certainly is the grim...no doubt...it foresees death...for all of us..."

A young pair were leaning against the wall on the floor. The exhausted boy was sleeping. He could not have been any older than 23. Most of his chubbiness was gone, his round face twitched in the agony of his nightmares. His head was resting on the shoulder of his a young woman, a year younger than he was. Her dreamy eyes seemed to be off to some far-away unknown land where there was no pain. Unsconciously her small hand stroked the boys light-brown hair mumbling "Poor boy...now even lost his grandma...as I lost dad...now they all can see the Thestrals..."

An elderly man, with long strands of grey hair wildly hanging over his robes. Sniffing with his large nose with a big chunk missing, his small black beady eye fixed on the floor, the other white one constantly spinning into all directions. He was pacing the room, up and down, up and down, never even stopping to take a breath, all his senses higthened as if expecting an attack any second. Noone seemed to mind. They had gotten used to his "constant vigilance" attitude. They even were somehow relieved to know he was watching over them.

Another man, much younger, even though the domination of grey in his ginger hair gave the wrong impression. As did the torn and tattered beige robes, the long red scratches all over his body. Even without the knowledge of the full moon a few days earlier, one had to see the deep edges on his pale face, his eyes slightly glimmering only in remembrance as he kept them fixed on a photograph of three young boys. It was a muggle photograph so none of them were moving, just as in real life. Where once had been the face of a fourth man, the angry work of a pair of scissors could be seen.

A second man his age quietly sat in another corner. His black robes, his equally black shoulder-length greasy hair and his also black unreadable eyes strangely contrasting his white skin, his blank hollow face. His left arm was hiding the stump of where once had been his right. But in his opinion it had been the wrong arm. In Voldemorts it had been the right. Still hidden under his long sleeves the intact left arm still held the ugly mark which scorched his life.

A bushy-haired woman was watching him. As he suddenly turned towards her and she met his dark gaze, a shiver ran through her. After all these years he still had the power to intimidate her. But she was no longer a little girl, yearning to be the best of her year, those things did not matter any longer, and he was not her most feared teacher any more. She was only a young witch who had seen her two best friends being killed, one being the hero of the wizarding world and the other being her first true love. And he was only a haunted man who had once upon a time lost his innocence and recently his right arm. So she returned his stare, without blinking, none of them saying anything. There was no need to.

At that moment two creatures arrived. One was a young man with blonde hair and remarkable grey eyes. His dark green robes gave him a touch of nobility. The moment he walked in the red-haired girl instantly woke up and their eyes briefly met, lighting up for only a second at most.

The second was a grey tigered cat, with a strange black pattern around her eyes. The second the door was closed, the cat transformed into a stern-looking woman. Even without her dark red robe, her tight bun of grey hair, her no-nonsense face with deep lines, every part of her personality displayed the famous Gryffindor mentality. She let her eyes wander over the gathered people and a small part of her serenity dropped "Now, let us start with our meeting."


	3. Minerva or Breakdown

Authors note: Well, to say my reviews are rare would be an exageration! Wonder why? Well, I admit there has not been much of a story that far. So here I try again. You should just know that I tend to writing in a quite unusual style (at least I think so) and I love exploring the characters personalities. But you guys really have to comment now or I might just throw it. Even Amazia could not convince me otherwise then!

Disclaimer: I own only that small/ugly/wonderful room and the plot (all of that!), but unfortunately, due to unknown reasons, none of the characters. They are JKRs! happy now Oh and the "happiness hormones" are actually my English teachers.

The meeting had not gone well, not at all. She had not dared raising her expectations up high, but even her small hurdles had proven to be way too much. It was not like her to believe in miracles, but even she held small sparks of hope inside her.

She tried to recall their meeting, to find something, anything, useful in it. But only Arthurs sad look, Remuss pitiful eyes, Severuss constant sneer, Mundunguss loud burps, Alastors endless clonking around the room and Sybills silent mutterings came to her mind. And the children. Because no matter how old they were, in spirit even more than in body, to her, they would always be children. Freds lost eyes – never had she imagined one of the troublesome twins to be gone when the other had to remain. Hermiones determined tries to help, coming up with ideas, all meant good, but none useful. The young, bright witch reminded her so much of herself, so many years ago it seemed like an eternity. Except for her drained feeling, there were no useful ideas left inside her.

At least Draco and Ginny, Neville and Luna had found some sort of comfort. And a small, well hidden part of her soul envied them, knowing she would not.

They had tried. For five long years they had nothing but tried.

And lost. Friends. Family members.

None of them were with the ministry now, so being able to keep a closer eye on the going ons. Not that she blamed Arthur. She understood he had not been able to continue working for those responsible for the loss of his wife and five of his children.

And no spy was left to find out about the Dark Lords plans. She remembered the night when a frightened Hermione had burst into her room, tears streaming done her youthful face, gesturing towards the door, where a heap of blood-stained black robes had lain, only slightly moving. His survival had been one of the rare wonders, she usually didnt believe in, although his right arm could not be saved. She often wondered how Albus had been able to send him off, knowing his discovery as a traitor was always possible. But Albus was gone now. As so many others were.

How were they to save the wizarding world, if they couldnt even save themselves? She sank down onto the uncomfortable chair, feeling older than ever before. But she wouldnt break, they couldnt afford it. She had to be strong, calm, fierceâsomeone for them to believe in. But she was no leader, she never had been, and she knew it. She gladly would have remained the Deputy Headmistress for the rest of her life.

A soft knock interrupted her drifting thoughts. "Minerva?" spoke a calm, gentle voice. He would try to help her, desperately needing aid himself. "Come in, Remus." His lined face with the still golden though unshining eyes appeared in the doorway. There was something about him that made people pity him, maybe it was the grey in his sandy hair, or the slight limping, or the way he always looked like his beloved pet dog had been run over. In fact it had been.

He sank down besider her, taking a bar of chocolate out of his patchy robes, offering it to her. She almost smiled. How he always thought that those kind of happiness hormones could solve all your problems. She still accepted and let the sweet melt on her tongue, knowing not even a ton of it had the power to change a thing. Remus looked content with her taking the chocolate.

She had often thought him too soft-hearted, too kind and caring a personality not to be hurt. Only his natural shyness and his "werewolf problem" had kept him from charming everyone around him. But the few friends he had had were gone now. And still he cared about others, fully knowing he would be hurt again and once more be left alone. Must be a part of that stubborn Gryffindor mentality.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he softly inquired. Always the polite host. She shook her head so he stayed.

She had always tried to appear stern, polite – but cold, unapproachable. Not in making herself deliberately ugly or acting snide and cruel, as Severus was so good at, but in burying herself inside a wall of work, duty and strictness. Being someone who was not hated or feared, but respected in a way that kept others away. She had not been able to fool Albus. And she knew that those 12 people would not be fooled by her either.

She knew Remus was waiting for her to say something. He did not tell her of course, being the polite and patient man he was. But she kept quiet. "Well make it." So wonderful words, if it were not for his defeated voice. "We have to." She heard herself answer, trying to regain her balance, needing to be the strict teacher again. "You are not alone, you know? They wouldnt mind if you just were yourself." Soft spoken words from a lonely werewolf, from a man who had experienced first-hand what it meant to be really alone. But at least he had never pretended to be someone else.

"I cant be. Not because of them. But for myself. I will be fine." She knew she was lying, and she was not particulary good at it, not much of a Slytherin in her. She quickly rose, feeling her bones crack slightly. "Goodbye for now, Remus" and she was out the door.

Maybe she was fleing. She knew that if she stayed in Remuss calming presence any longer she might have cracked. She would have told him about her sorrows, her fears. But in the process she would have burdoned him. Her own weight would not have gotten lighter at being shared.

A second later she already was Minerva McGonagall, former Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmistress and nowadays chosen leader of a lost group of people who tried in vain to save the wizarding world. She was walking straight and tall, her head held high, determination in her eyes and her hair still in that straight bun. Noone could deny how good she was at pretenting.

His golden eyes remained at the door where she had been a second earlier. "No you wont" he spoke into the empty room. "None of us will be".


	4. Hermione or Fight

Authors noteDisclaimer: Thanks for THE review. You are my truest (not to mention my ONLY) fan - sorry Amazia, friends do not count! There is no better praise than telling me I kept the character I wrote the way it should be – and I simply love McGonagall. Tests say I am like her – hope that is true! So on with the show! I still do not own them, none, and I do not make any good money of this (although, if you offered...) Okay, now different wizards and witches this time. I am in a bad mood today, so they will have to suffer!

Oh and I discovered that cut out all my apostrophies, so it is not my bad spelling, but that (not very nice) fact! Just in case you wanted to know!

"Run, you silly girl" the usually silky voice held a hint of panic in it. And she knew why. They were overpowered. There were so many, 10 Death Eaters and 5 Ministry Members the last time she had counted. And there were more and more coming. It was not very hard to figure out why. After their long searches they had finally stumbled across three of the thirteen Wanted.

She knew that fighting would do them no good. She was not used to running and hiding, there was a great deal of bravery and courage inside her, although she had once figured herself a Ravenclaw. But this was different. Her two best friends were gone. And when it had come hard on hard it had been Harry who had done most of the fighting, if she was totally honest. She had once told him off about his "saving-thing" and now found herself desperately wishing he would be here to show-off once more.

But even the great Harry Potter had proven to be breakable, had been able to die, just like any other human being. She knew they would not surrender, never. But deep in her heart she had always been a realist. They were just three. A man who had once been intimidating, someone way too easy to fear or hate, a seemingly typical dark wizard, powerful, who still had a wand, but only the wrong hand to carry it. A blonde boy who once had seemed the arrogant, spoiled son of his father and who now was equally determined only to see his upbringer fall. And a bushy-haired girl who once had only sought wisdom and knowledge and who had lost the few people she had cared for. They stood no chance.

"Now what have we here" she saw Draco stiffen as he, like her, recognized the mocking tone of Lucius Malfoy. "If these are not three of the seemingly so clever ones who have fooled us for quite some time now. How does your arm work, Severus?" Snape gripped his wand tighter and scowled, otherwise not letting any emotion slip. She admired this kind of self-control, knowing her hate towards them was plainly written across her face. "And our beloved little Miss Know-it-all" he looked Hermione over. "What a pity you are on the loosing side!" She involuntarily shivered at his voice, unconsciously pulling her cloak tighter around her body. "And the one I wanted to catch myself most" as his cold grey eyes fell on Draco his clipped tone gathered an even greater amount of hatred "I have the Dark Lords permission to treat you myself, my son".

"I would rather face Voldemort" there was a sharp intake of breath from the Death Eaters and a fearful squeal from a Ministry Member "himself than you, father" he spit the last word out like a bad taste in his mouth. Friends you can choose, family not.

The fighting would start soon. Lucius Malfoy had kept on taunting them for some time, but she saw the other Death Eaters, especially Bellatrix Lestrange who was standing right behind him with a malicious gleam in her black eyes, were getting keen on some blood-shedding. She noted how the Ministry Members quietly kept in the background, trying hard to seem invisible. She doubted their ability to actually utter the killing curse. But there was still the problem of twelve Death Eaters who seemed to be on the height of their power, against the weak three of them.

She kept looking for an escape route, but they were surrounded, the circle of Death Eaters drawing nearer and nearer. There was no stalling time any longer. She kept looking for a weak spot, someone they could quickly overpower and escape. She knew that apparating was not possible, but there was a portkey, just a few blocks away, if they only could get there...

There stood Peter Pettigrew, in comparison to the other Death Eaters he seemed even smaller and uglier...and weaker. Since their ruling, the Death Eaters had stopped wearing masks, having no reasons to hide anymore, now it was them who had to go into hiding. Pettigrews small plump body swayed slightly as his beady brown eyes swooshed over the gathered. She caught a pair of deep black eyes and gestured into Pettigrews direction. Severus understood, he nodded sligthly, visible only to her.

"Crucio" a mean sparkle could be seen in Malfoys eyes as the curse hit his son, who had not been fully prepared for the sudden attack of his father. He fell to his knees and clenched his teeth, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of hearing him screaming.

"Expelliarimus" the curse hit the still with fascination watching Pettigrew square in the chest and he immediately fell backwards. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the now distracted Death Eaters, saw a stunned Lucius lift the Cruciatus off his son, saw Snape gripping Draco with his left arm, so himself remaining defenceless and pulling the boy towards the gap in the circle.

She knew she should try to get away now, but against better judgement she still turned around. Severus had almost passed Pettigrew, still dragging along the strangely pale Draco, when Bellatrix Lestrange jumped forward, screaming "Crucio" at him in an almost hysterical manner, laughing in madness when he cringed in pain. Hermione was angry, she could feel the sudden urge to hurt this woman, a temper inside her she had denied for so long. Harry had not been good at hiding his special hatred against the murderess of his godfather. As Severus finally fell onto his knees she suddenly heard herself yelling "Imperio" and saw Bellatrix stop in midair. She saw herself through a haze as her voice commanded Bellatrix to go for Lucius Malfoy instead. And she felt a distinct urge of pleasure at seeing this evil woman obey her will, the will of little Miss Know-it-all.

"Hermione" the distant voice of an intruder that tried to pull her out of the hot, blissfull feeling of revenge. "Hermione" that voice of Draco Malfoy grew more urgent, almost pleading her to "snap out of it". And finally she managed, feeling drunken and high. So this was what the use of an Unforgivable felt like. It made her not wonder any longer how come this was a substitute for muggle drugs. No time to ponder on the reasons why she had enjoyed it now!

And they ran. The three of them fled as fast as the could. Feeling that cold despair of defeat. When she was asked later how they had made it to the broken CD that was the portkey, she never knew. All that mattered was that they did, inspite of the broken and battered states they were in.

Me: REVIEW!


	5. Arthur or My children

Authors note: Back am I! Posting a new chapter too! now enough of Yoda

Thanks for each and every single review. Now on with the "remaining"!

"But you will have to eat something somewhen" the tall man tried in his fatherly manner. Having had seven children rather taught you how to cope with "I refuse to eat this" problems. He sighed. Again it had been Molly who had (liked to be) bothered with those things. Not him. But he would not walk down that path again – the dreaded "I should not have been at work as often, should have spent more time with my children instead, should have shown my wife more often how much I really loved her, should have, should have...an endless list of things he had not done". Too late!

There were other people left, he reminded himself. Two children still alive. Who he intended (and did) on drowning with his love and his time (not that he had many other things to occupy himself with). And somehow he had started to care for the others too. It was a part of his nature, like six empty seats in his life, he vainly tried to occupy with other people – ones he considered friends, or others who had 5 years ago been complete strangers to him.

He suspected that being the reason he stood next to the table in the far left corner, with a bowl of soup in his hand, feeling rather strange, and trying to get Sybill Trelawney to eat, as she had not done in merlin-knows how many days. He did not consider her a "friend", most of them left her to herself, did not seem to care much for this "wanna-be" seer who got skinnier and skinnier. At times he noticed that out of all people, Minerva took more notice than the others, talked to her even, although he knew about her general disagreement with every idea that contained something akind to Divination.

Finally he put the bowl down onto the table, a bit too quickly and some of the soup spilled out. She did not even seem to notice, her eyes behind the huge glasses far, far away. Any ideas left him. How could he raise two children on his own when he was not even capable of getting a grown woman to eat, or to even look at him, or anything in the present world.

Clonk, clonk, clonk "Now, eat!" He jumped a bit with surprise. As did Sybill, although in her way, meaning her eyes started focusing on the form of Mad-Eye. Alastor glared at her, nodding firmly and clonking away again for another round inside their room.

Amazingly enough Sybill started to take up the spoon and forced the contents (he did check, there really was soup on her spoon) down her throat. Once more he wondered how Mad-Eye always got people to do his bidding, no matter what. He remembered the long-time ago incident including the garbage binns. But wasnt that different now? Wouldnt each and every one of them sacrifice everything for another? No, not everything, not Ginny or Fred.

Mundungus gave a rather loud snore. Sleeping was all he ever seemed to do. Except of course when he was in the process of drinking himself into oblivion. But who was he to judge. No, he never took pleasure in the primitive joy of alcohol. But there were times when he wished he could. When asking Mundungus for a drink or two seemed like the best idea. All that kept him from actually doing it was the fear of loosing his childrens respect and their trust.

He noticed how he always referred to them as "his children" never using the "ugly" number: 2. If he said children he could pretend meaning 7 of them.

He watched Ginny, Fred, Neville and Luna for a moment. They were gathered on the floor. Hermione and Draco were missing, which was quite hard not to notice. They were "out there" , as every place outside this room was referred to, with Severus. His only hope was of them getting back all and whole.

The children, for all of them were children still, were conversing in low tones, no loud chattering, no laughs. Noone would have minded them. Fred in his way looking out for them, being the eldest, feeling the most grown-up. Neville and Luna always keeping close to each other, as if one of them would dissappear if they let go of the others hand. He could not help noticing how his daughters gaze kept waving over towards the door. It was clear who she was waiting for. They all were.

The front door burst open. Three figures more fell than walked into their room. Only a second later the back door was almost ripped of its hinges. Minerva came bursting into the room, Remus following. "Severus where have you been so long and with the children..." she stopped her ranting as she noticed the glare the adressed shot her. Arthur had often noticed how their "goddess of wisdom" could change from fury to care in such a short span of time. "Oh sweet merlin, you are hurt" she prodded him into a chair, rather carelessly throwing the still snoring Mundungus out of it, who gave a waking burp and kept sitting on the cold floor.

Meanwhile Ginny had helped Draco and gently nursed him while softly speaking. Neville and Luna tried to get Hermione to sit down who kept assuring them she was fine.

"It is nothing, woman, stop fussing" Severus should have known better. Now that tour really was no use with Minerva. This way she was only getting even more worked-up. "Why dont you go on with bothering our little werewolf instead." He wincingly suggested. Remus did not even as much as blink any more when hearing this.

"Not before I made sure that all of you are fine and you have told me exactly what happened." "All three of us are whole in mind and body. Now quit behaving like Albus." Silence fell. We all knew that Severus had not meant it, his frustration had been speaking. Still it had been a blow. To none of us more than Minerva. She tried regaining her composure – years of experience. "Just tell us what happened, will you." It was not a question. "Afterwards you need some rest." A silent "and then the two of us will have a private little chat" remained in the air, Severus of course fully knowing and not happy about it.

"15 Death Eaters apparated around us. "He did not say the "we were overpowered" We all know they had stood no real chance. How they had gotten out, who knows. "They were in a rather good mood" he sneered. Well, if I had been a Death Eater, those last 5 years would have been an endless feast of sins. "Lucius was particulary glad to see his son and gave him a very warm welcome." Pitying looks scorched the blonde boy, who tried not to notice, focusing on my daughter instead. "After some compliments concerning my return and Hermiones good looks, they got bored and thought it a good idea to cast some curses." I looked downwards. We all knew it had been the Unforgivables, all we thanked for was that it had been the wrong one, the one without the green light being the last thing you saw. "Hermione managed to overpower Pettigrew" I noticed her slight blush. But there was more, she regarded Severus with a grateful look, almost as if he had altered the story, left some part involving her less heroic acts, out. "and we got away, as far as the portkey". He stopped. The end of the story.

"Thank you, Severus" Minerva finally said, earnestly. I knew Albus would have pressed on further. But the lioness tried to smile at him instead. We all knew it was faked, which hardly mattered. I wondered if I had ever seen Minerva actually smile or even laugh. "Now the three of you should go to bed." Strict, stern, but not unkind. And they obliged. Odd as it seemed, Hermione, Draco and even Severus rose and headed towards their beds.

It was awfully silent after they had left. "I had foreseen this, you remember" the smokey voice whose owner had actually eaten her soup, broke the silence. "I know Sybill" Minerva replied wearily. But who had not? It did not take the gift or curse of the eye to have waited for this for some time.

"Sorry, Mundungus" Minerva said rather half-heartedly. "Never mind, Minnie" he replied generously. Imagine how tired she must have been not to call him to order for the "Minnie" part.

So we all did the only sensible thing to do. We went (or at least tried) to sleep. Saying hello and welcome to our own personal nightmares. Who wonders why mine included a red-haired boy and a red-haired girl dying all possible and impossible deaths, each of them being more cruel than the other?

Me again: Ha, I managed to involve all characters (not mine, you know, JKRs, remember) I left to live again. Now waves her hand you will review!


	6. Severus or Our secrets

Authors note: Do not ask me why I keep updating so fast right now. It is just that this story has really gotten into me. It gripped me and will not let me go. Although I do know my writings contain more of the characters than the actual story. Anyway I just need to write the "little talk" Minerva has with Severus right now. No not the "birds and the bees" one.

I never was one to push dreaded happenings on in front of me forever. And so, as usual, I tried to "get it over with" as soon as possible. Meaning I found myself an hour after I had woken up in front of the door that hid Minerva McGonagall.

I knocked demandingly. "Come in". I did. I remembered times when I would enter her office (I had never been to her private quarters) and she would always be sitting at that big oaken table, reading this or some other homework or school paper, all strict-stern teacher, hair in tight bun, rigid figure, lines etched into her face, with that dark-green ink she had written the Hogwarts letters with (she used black these days).

She was staring out of the small window, seemingly lost in thought. "Having some werewolf worries?" I tried provoking her to get her out of this reverie. Her eyes swung over to mine, for a moment too unguarded, before the shutters fell down. A weakness of hers, no matter how good she was at guarding her words and actions, when surprised there always was an instant when it was just too easy to read her.

"As a matter of fact, yes." She was as honest as ever. Not much place for lies in the bloody Gryffindor mentality. But this time I would not go any further with my teasings. As much as I hate to admit it, we all were worried when one of us was "out there". Since when had I come to think in terms of an "us"? And it had been Remuss and Mundunguss turn tonight. Now if having to baby-sit Fletcher wasnt enough reason to be worrying!

We had worked out a rotation system of two people having to be "on patrol" for one day, trying to look out for some other who might help us, trying to convince weak Ministry Members to join us, keeping watch where the Death Eaters were.

Minerva had wanted the "children", as she used to refer to the two Weasley brats, Hermione, Draco, the strange Lovegood girl and that insufferable Longbottom boy, not to go out at all, but they had (understandingly) protested. Now they were allowed to, but needed a "grown-up" (mind, not Mundungus) as a protection at all times. I do have to admit that I did not mind Hermione or Draco as a company, but I have sucessfully managed to keep Minerva from pairing me with Longbottom so far.

"Sit down" she pointed at the only chair, remaining standing herself. I obeyed in spite of my deep dislike in being smaller than the other in the room. Not that I was afraid of Minerva in any way, even if she could display quite a temper at times. She surely was powerful, but without the will of killing another human being, not even in self-defence. Another failing! Although the noble Gryffindors would probably consider it a strength.

"Would you mind to explain further details of your encounter yesterday?" she inquired. Again I noticed how much she wasnt Albus. No lemon-drop offering. Easy question – easy answer.

"No". She did not even try to find out more. "I understand" And I believed her. I never had when Albus had started his "Severus, I understand, my boy." But Minerva had never offered untrue sentiments, only the cold-hard truth. And she had been through much these last five years, all of us had.

Only if Longbottom ever came up to me (which he never dared, silly boy, I still was able to scare the wits out of him, at least I had not completely lost my touch) and told me he understood...well let us say, we would not have been an unlucky number of survivors any longer.

"Do we stand any chance, Severus?" Why she asked me of all people Ill never know. Maybe because she simply needed a confirmation of what she already knew. Or maybe because the others might have offered some "Well either make it or die trying" heroic nonsense.

"No" she did not flinch. If she had I would have wondered why we had forced her to lead us on after Albuss passing. The Dark Lord, Albus...I had believed to finally be my own master afterwards.

But Minerva was not like them in any way. Suggestions instead of orders, questions instead of exclaims...and still she remained strong, like a statue, that feels the harsh, cold rain in her face, that occasionally weeps and hurts, but always stands still. Albus had been another statue, stronger but too high for us to reach.

She was staring out of the window again. It was pitch black outside, nothing to see. But seemingly her cat-senses were alert. They were not coming back now, so she faced me again.

"Severus" I had never liked my name. And I had detested the way people spoke it. Albus, like I was still a small school-boy who needed aid. The Dark Lord, like I was his little play-toy who had the honor of brewing deadly potions for him. My father, like I was the most filthy and disgusting scum he had ever seen.

"You should try...just try to find some sort of happiness. You might not like having to share so much of your personal space with 12 others, neither do I. But there are advantages." She never told me which. "It is only normal if..." gods it was so obvious how much she detested this type of talk. She was not very good at it either. "...if some of us try to find some comfort in any kind of relationship." My observent eyes never missed how she once more glanced out of the window.

I knew where this was leading to. And I did not like it in any way. "What I am saying is, that if you opened up just a little towards a certain someone or were somehow involved with a former student, noone would mind" She had gotten it out. I almost wanted to applaud...almost. Instead I replied. "If you were to do the same, all of them would approve too." Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.

I almost could not believe my eyes. Had it been my imagination or had Minerva McGonagall really blushed. Not long, a second at most, and it was gone as soon as it had come. Next Sybill might declare all her visions for wrong.

I silently rose. The "private little chat" had taken enough of my time. "He will return." I left the "dont worry" out. I had almost gotten as far as the door when she answered "I hope so. I always do." I nodded. I understood. After all, it was happening to me too. The only difference being that I would never admit it. Not that it mattered. For Minerva knew. As long as "she" did not.

"Thank you, Severus" I tried not to feel smug at hearing this. I still did. It was not very often that someone thanked me. "Youre welcome" one of the few chances I got to say this to me unknown phrase.

When I closed the door she already was back to staring out of the window.


	7. Alastor or Constant suffering

Authors note: I am haunted by this story. Deep into my nightmares. No, really, even if noone seems to care (except for those lovely few but precious reviewers) I do go on. No matter how much you try to nail down my coffin I keep popping up. So lets make some characters suffer a bit once more!

Clonk, clonk, clonk – up and down. There is not enough space in this damned room for doing much more than pacing up and down. I gave the young ones quite some Auror Training this morning, as I do every second day. Even I have to admit that they are not that dim as I would have expected. Even that Longbottom boy can manage with some help of this rather clever "heads-in-the-clouds" girlfriend Lovegood.

The Weasley boy seems too demotivated. No strength in the eye of loss. Once I called him "George" and he freaked out. Later Arthur begged be to try to be more compassionate.

Now if I have ever seen two promising students it will be the young Miss Weasley and Draco. He insists that all of us call him that, refusing to go by "Malfoy" any longer. Understandable, even for a ferret! They try and fight much more than the others. Except of course for Miss Granger who transfers all of her theoretical knowledge into the practical area.

Clonk, clonk, clonk – Arthur again tries to get the strange Trelawney woman to eat. He will never learn. How can he not notice that she has given up a long time ago. But no, he will not let her have her peace and rest there. Again I demand her to "Eat!" more to relieve Arthur of his unuseful tries than to actually force her to keep on living for longer.

She obeys again, as people are used to do when I order something. Arthur gives me a grateful look and falls onto the chair. His tired brown eyes wave over to his children. Every 5 seconds he keeps looking for them. When Ginny first dissappeared with Draco he almost had a panic attack.

Now they always tell him where they go, with whom and for how long. They are good children, never seem to mind the lack of privacy in their lives and know how not to upset their father.

Clonk, clonk, clonk – In the far end corner Snape keeps frowning at noone in particular. The scowl would have seemed attached to his pale face, had it not been for Miss Granger who walks up to him and sits down to his left. She silently says something to him and I blame my old age for not understanding her words. Now the Ex-Death Eater actually watches her with interest as she explains something.

Clonk, clonk, clonk – damned curiosity. Snape, who was in the process of answering, stops immediately as I come closer. So much for prying. "Need something?" he scowls. "No. I just wanted to greet the young lady." Miss Granger still has the decency to blush when an old sod as I am pays her a compliment. "Now that you have done that, would you mind bothering Arthur again instead, who seems to know your worth much more than we do or at least is better at hiding his annoyance." He has become even ruder towards me in the last 10 years. No fear I might blow his cover any longer. I turn around and head towards the opposite end of the room. My very practical magical eye spins backwards and watches Hermione as she rests her hand on Snapes still existing arm. Very interesting.

I do wonder about Miss Grangers judgement of men or human beings or character or looks in general. Not that there is a lot of choice or that I expect her to actually develop a liking for Arthur, Mundungus or myself. But she does seem to care about Snape as a person.

Even I have to admit that he has been quite useful as a spy. Although the moment I deemed him trustworthy or started respecting him was when his hand was ripped off. I know how it feels to loose body parts and anyone who does and continues being strong and fighting deserves my acceptance. Getting used to Snape as a war companion really was a low-blow.

Two doors burst open almost simoltainiously. Into the main door tumbles a very battered and torn Mundungus. Now he does look rather ragged, sleepy, drunk and all in all, mostly like a homeless (which he is, as we all are more or less) at all times. But there is more to it this time. His robes are ripped partly off (and who else but a Death Eater would want to strip Mundungus?). Blood is seeping from his skull and he is limping.

His unusually wide openend eyes keep focusing on Minerva. He is trembling. I have known him for about 40 years and he has never, not even with about as many drinks intus, been trembling.

"Im sorry." He mumbles. And all our fears are confirmed. If Mundungus actually says that sort of sentiment it must be really bad. We all regard Minerva. She is the one who has to ask the question. She forces herself to stay calm as she asks "Where is Remus?"

Mundungus seems only to have waited for that question. Not wanting to break the news himself. But now, being forced into answering, replying with "They caught him."


	8. Remus or Imprisoned

Authors note: gettting tired of writing it well, thanks for those who reviewed, thanks for those who read it please review (and I know how much work and times it takes, from my own experiences). I felt the need to really write Remuss pov now, after all, he is the one who got captured. I might officially declare the ships as following (although they are in stages varying from looking at each other to desperate sex – I keep noticing how the age has nothing to do with that in my case): LL/NL; GW/DM; HG/SS; MM/RL Oh and finally I own someone – Cindy Clares is mine

Remus Lupin hates to be behind iron bars. And the wolf likes it even less, it detests small and closed, dark spaces, wants to howl and break out to flee. He would run around in mad circles and even hurt himself in his rage.

I am glad that the wolf is not in control at the moment. But I fear the next week, when the full moon is going to rise. Of course there is the hope that the others will come to get me out before that. But hope is just a small ray of sunlight searching for a way in the darkness of night.

My attempts to bandage my wounds are miserable, I have never been good with muggle medicine and without my wand I feel more stripped and naked, than if they had taken my clothes. They are even shabbier, burned at some spots and bloodied at others. All my bones ache, I feel terribly old and tired, but fear to fall asleep. In my sleep I am helpless, I can not defend myself then. I try to stay alert, but I am too weary.

I hope Mundungus managed to escape. And that he has informed the others about what has happened. How they apparated in front of us and we were overpowered, a chance of two to eight. Of course we fought and tried to flee. But Cindy Clares disarmed me from behind.

We had been sent to pick her up. It was really hard to find wizards and witches, brave enough to join us in our fight against Voldemort. She had proven to be loyal, or so we thought.

But I did not blame her. She had come to my prison cell. And she had looked so sorry, there even were tears in her eyes. "I did not want this to happen, Mister Lupin" she sniffed. For a woman of 35 she seemed awfully young at that moment, like a helpless little child. "I am so sorry. Really" And I did believe her.

You could see it in her apologizing blue eyes, that looked at me out of the small heart-shaped face, almost hidden by shoulder-length blonder hair. "They would have killed my husband, if I had not agreed to help them catch you." I pitied her. There still was this streak of youth, of naiveity, I had not known for a long time, to her. I did not want to be the one to tell her , that her husband would be killed anyways. Voldemort did not care about her, she had brought him one of the "Wanted" list and so had fulfilled her use. Knowing Voldemort he might even be mad, that they had not caught Mundungus as well.

Mundungus was one of these under-appreciated characters. Noone took him for full, and he was mostly laughed at. But none could deny that he was a capable wizard. And that he had, regardless of his alcohol problem, managed to escape, while I had been caught.

"Oh what a pityful little werewolf" Lucius Malfoy mocked me. The wolf would have wanted to rip him into bits, into small pieces of pale flesh, two rolling cold grey eyeballs and a scalp of long, blonde hair. No, the werewolf was not at all pityful. But the man, Remus Lupin, was.

"What a good caught we made." He spoke self-sufficiently. A part of me that had not given in, answered "But you only got one, when you should have taken hold of two." Malfoy senior almost seemed to flinch. I would have to pay for my comment, but was not sure if I cared any longer. "Crucio" Pain shot through me, but despite the weak state of my body, I had learned to be strong, part of transforming every month.

"Oh that unhygenique drunk was not as important as you were." "But still he managed to escape your clutches." I had never been that bold before. But maybe my boldness was simple stupidity. Was I starting down the way, that Sirius had gone? The road of anger and recklessness, that had gotten my best friend killed.

But I had suceeded in making Lucius Malfoy angry, which was not an easy task, but it shone through his steely grey eyes. Voldemort was mad that they had failed to catch that "unimportant drunk".

"Does not matter." Malfoy dismissed the case with his usual nobless. "You will be our key to all of them anyway." My fear, my greatest fear. I did not want anyone to die for me. And he knew that.

"They will not come for me." I was so terrible at lying, could not cover up the wavering of my voice and the unconvinced sound of it. I could never have been a spy. Total control over ones own body, voice, feelings and even thoughts was a task asked too much of me. Only Severus was capable of this kind of detachement.

Malfoy laughed and shook his head. "We both know, that I am right, werewolf. They will certainly try to rescue you, as soon as the drunk has informed them about your whereabouts. Oh, not all of them, no, they are not that stupid. But" and his smile was as cold as ice "McGongall will surely come. And as she is their leader and all of you are a big, happy family."

He said it, as if a family was the worst thing one could have. A weakness, a distraction, unuseful but still dangerous. It was the sight of a bitter, angry man, a man who once had had his own family and who had lost them, all of them, due to his own faults. A man who envied others, who still knew how to love and be loved in return. "They will not let her go alone."

The worst kind of enemy is an intelligent one. Yes, that was what would happen.

I silently prayed to myself, that they would not come. But I knew, that even though we were a bunch of completely different individuals, who had partly not even gotten along with each other before, each one would risk everything for another, no matter who it was.

And Minerva, our leader, our brave goddess, would come personally to my rescue. She would not endanger the children, no, the lioness would tell her cubs to stay safely in the burrow, with another lioness to "protect" them. Of course the children, I know they were all over 20 now, would argue, but in the end they would have to obey.

It was the main difference between Albus and her. Not that I had not admired him, I had always been grateful for what he had done for me when he had given me the chance of attending a normal wizarding school, of even teaching for a year. He had tried showing me that I was not an animal, but a wizard.

But he had always fought for and kept in sight the greater good. And on his path, there had been sacrifices, needed ones, but still sacrifices, in order to achieve the right thing. Did the goal always justify the deed?

Minerva could never do that. She cared as much as Albus had, but she was not capable of sacrificing someone. The greater good had to stand behind the life and health of our small group. And she would try to rescue one, even if it meant that many would have to die in order to vainly attempt something that was doomed to fail. It was a trait that made her less a leader, but more a human being.

But the happenings that would be from then on, I could not envision. What if Alastor lost his other eye or Severus his remaining arm? What if Fred and Ginny lost their father? What if we lost the drunk, who, even being a coward, would jeopardize his life to save mine? What if all of us lost our lioness?

"You are surely not worth all their trouble!" Malfoy said, before he cast me another glance and left.

Of course, I should not believe the words of Lucius Malfoy, Dracos much detested father, famous torturer, murderer of his own wife and Voldemorts right hand.

But I could not deny the fact that he was right.


	9. Mundungus or Sentimentality

„We have to free him." It is not a question, all of us are sure of that fact.

If ever Minnie gave an order, it surely is now. She would of course not tolerate me secretly calling her "Minnie", but my mind is mine and free, so she will not know.

Problem ist – none of us have an idea how to get Remus out of this mess. I do not feel guilty for leaving him alone, I tell myself. After all, I am just a drunkard, like all of them think. Still I can not hide my pride on having escaped. Hehehe my mind laughs and gives the Death Eaters a long nose.

I fear going out there again, after having escaped so narrowly. I do not mind admitting it. Lucky me to not be cursed with that damned failing of not fearing anything. I got a healthy fear and I stand to it. Nothing keeps ya alive better or longer!

But I know I have to go. I was with him after all. Damn Remus for getting caught and all because of his trust towards that naïve little woman. You would think that a werewolf would learn after getting hurt so often, but no, not him, people are still good in his eyes.

Now the only good thing in this place surely is brother alcohol. Whoever said that the muggles are capable of nothing? Oh, guess that was the Evil Lord. Well, he was wrong! Or he has never tasted the sweetness of Whisky on his dry lips. No wonder he is that upset!

Watching them depart is really hard, even for me, and I am not that close to tears with my high damm. But they leave as if they would never meet again, as if the elders said goodbye to the youngsters. As if they left them only the future – but what kind of future should that be?

Arthur tells his children to take care, to eat well and sleep enough. He keeps stroking their red heads with hands that shake awfully. Fred looks very serious and tries being a brave, young soldier. Ginny does not pretend, and with honest upset she presses her small head into her fathers robes.

"Do not go!" she pleads towards him with huge brown eyes, that reveal all of her girl power. "You have fought enough. Please stay this time." Then a small tear falls. "We can not loose you too!" Fred nods tightly and puts his right hand on his sisters shoulder protectively.

"She is right." Minnie says in that awfully calm, collected voice, that only quivers oh so slightly. "You should stay here, Arthur." Her wisened eyes sweep over us. "All of you should."

When her eyes hit me, it is the first time she seems honestly concerned for my well-being. Except for her constant tellings-off concerning my drinking habits. But they do not count. I guess she only does them to not encourage the kids on that path.

"I am sorry, Mundungus" she really is "but I need you" it must have been very hard for her to admit that little fact "only you know what exactly happened and where they took Remus." She had to force those last words out of her tight-lipped mouth. Not because she does not like the taste of "Remus" on her lips, but because she does not to want to use it in a meaning of him getting captured.

"Its okay, Minnie" I mumble. "Ya know, I would do everything for ya." And I grin.

"Of course, we will not let you go out there alone." And to hear those words from Severus Snape really means the world must be coming to an end.

"I never thought I would ever have to say this" Moody snarls, "but Snape is right." Arthur nods. "Only together we are strong" he quotes, even though all of us know how much it pains him to leave his children.

"I will go with you." Hermione states with an unknown feriocity. "No, you will most surely not!" Snape hisses at her. All of us keenly watch the battle of soft, brown eyes with cold, black ones – Alastor even does so with both of his.

"Severus is right, Hermione" Minnie tries to break the tension. The unspoken sorryness in her eyes is all to clear, she knows it, of course, most of us do. It is a phenomen worldwide, that lovers are the last ones to actually acknowledge their mutual feeling for each other. And some might never have time before it is too late, before the end comes.

"I know" the girl hangs her head a bit, but proudly rises it up again a moment later "But we are no longer children. We can fight our own battles. We honestly appreciate your concern" and her eyes keep lingering on Severus, who does not feel adressed at all "but Remus is our friend as well as yours." And now her eyes meet Minnies, this girl knows decidedly too much. Makes me almost glad of my lack of private life.

"She is right." Ginny now chimes in. "Dad, we can defend ourselves, we have learned so."

"I would rather die in a worthy battle, like George did, than remain here cowardly hiding." And if nothing else would have worked, this sentence from Fred does. That and the fact that he has spoken his brothers name for the first time in 4 years.

"Idiotic children" Severus mutters, but grows rather quiet as soon as Hermione charmingly smiles at him and takes his hand rather openly. I swear I see Minne rise the edges of her amazingly thin mouth for a moment and Severus tries frowning at her. The small feminine hand in his keeps him from suceeding.

"You are not thinking about leaving us here?" asks a usually rather shy Neville. "Of course, they are not" his girlfriend Luna tells him with that dreamy voice of hers.

"Without us they could never manage their foolish try, after all" Draco smiles self-sufficiently.

"You may not see the true need for a visionary" amazement never ceases as even Sybill joins us "but you might be grateful for another witch."

And for a moment I feel strangely proud of being a part of this incredible group. Oh yes, surely a very addicted to risks and suicidal group, but one that stands together. All of us will go to rescue the one who got captured.

It remindes me of that muggle novel I used to read when I was younger, "One for all and all for one". We are the musketeers, how strange, how fantastic, but how real.

"If that is your final word" Minnie again wavers her strict eyes over us, but she knows that we have made our decision. And she can not hide how proud she is, even if she fears for all of our lives.

Dear Minnie might not believe it, but she is a good leading lioness. Just as much as Alastor is a nice, alert Ex-Auror, Sybill is a helpful wanna-be-seer, Arthur is a caring father, Severus is a brave cynical bat, Hermione is an intelligent young woman, Ginny is a clever girl, Draco a talented arrogant young man, Fred a fierce fighter, Neville a shy but fearless boy, Luna an inventive heads-in-the-clouds girl and I am a hopeless drunkard with too much conscience. And we go off to rescue our beloved sad werewolf.

Gods – how pathetic!


	10. Draco or Aspects of love

Authoress note: I had a lot of time for writing when I visited my grandparents and my computer broke down, real writing on good old sheets of paper with an equally antique pen. So here comes what I produced. For a change I take the pov of a younger one, Draco for me. Here he comes.

This is hopeless, I know it and all of them do too. We are so close, way too close to the former Ministry of Magic, nowadays Death Eater headquarters.

Never would I have willingly admitted how afraid I actually am.

And all that helps me is the small pale hand of my pretty little red-head.

Only caring for myself was that much easier. But I have started to feel damned responsible for my Ginny. Wich includes protecting her father and only remaining brother. And there is still my sense of loyality, how very Hufflepuff, towards my former Head of House, which adds saving the annoying Miss Know-it-all. Too many people to care about!

We have absolutely no plan – getting in as silently as possible, freeing Lupin and other prisoners and leaving, without being noticed, is no plan, it is an unrealistic dream equaling suicide.

"You are free to leave!" McGonagall tells us one last time.

Of course none of us courageous idiots actually do.

In my opinion she is a better leader than the muggle-loving fool Dumbledore, who always tried to be our kind and forgiving, almighty father, all the time favoring Harry Potter and Gryffindors in general.

We duck and crawl silently through the hidden corridors, wands out, eyes alert.

Until that clumsy Longbottom stumbles over a stair and the noise seems to endlessly echo in the dark hallways and in my ears.

We silently try to hurry, which is a contradiction in itself. Our path is blocked by five Death Eaters.

"What have we here? A rescue mission for the werewolf? Too bad you are too late." Theodore Nott chuckles in delight. "No" there is a certain anxiety to McGonagalls voice.

Wonderful, all we need now is our leader to let her personal werewolf loving get into the way of her rational mind.

"Petrificus Totalus" Professor Snape hisses and Nott grows stiff before he hits the floor. Start of the battle.

And as the curses start flying, I am confirmed in my opinion of love as a weakness.

The love that has led Minerva McGonagall to come here in the first place.

The love that makes Fred Weasley faintly cry out "Dad" before his lifeless body hits the earth, struck down by the killing curse meant for his father.

The love that causes Neville Longbottom to press a hasty kiss onto Luna Lovegoods lips, before he gets killed by the same woman who drove his parents into insanity.

The love which forces the former Head of Slytherin to, for the first time, embrace Hermione Granger, only in order to take the curses thrown at her.

The love implemented into the passionate kiss, my dear Ginny presses onto my cold lips, before she "Avade Kedavra"s my former lapdog, Gregory Goyle, for killing her last brother.

But what distinguishes this love from the kind of adoration the Death Eaters show towards their Dark Master?

From the love that is clearly heard in Rodolphus Lestranges whispered "Bella" as the not longer dazed Luna Lovegood finishes off the madly-laughing bane of the Longbottom family.

Form the hurt I desperately try not to feel, to ignore and lock down inside my heart, as I face my father, knowing, that in the end, one of us will have to be the cause of demise for the other.

Yes, love is a weakness and distraction, but I still fail to find a difference between theirs and ours. Could it still be the same feeling that drives us to our actions?

The battle, the whole war, everything seems to stop when I look at my father.

At least to me, the world outside is forgotten, deaf to the shouting of the curses, blind to the wounds of my companions.

Everything leads to those cold grey eyes of my producer, the haunting and encouragement of my childhood.

I have to do it, noone can kill him, except for me. It is my obligation, if ever I had one. But I feel so weak.

He slyly smiles, he knows about the weakness of love, even if I am not sure that it has ever touched him before. But it will be the last time the calculating eyes have underestimated my capability of ignoring my feelings.

This time my ducking is quicker, as is my "Avade Kedavra" and my whispered "For mother" before the surprised grey eyes shutter down forever.

"Draco, you did it" again it is Ginnys hasty kiss that awakes me to the cold, harsh world of reality. What have I done? I killed my own father! Battles with: You had to do it, for the greater good, whatever that is! But there is pain I feel when I stare down at his body.

I am only glad that his eyes are closed, I could not bear them gazing open. It is hard enough as it is.

Reality consists of Mad-Eye pulling up a crunched Mr Weasley, still trying to reanimate his last sons lifeless corpse, fully knowing that there is no cure for the dead.

The harsh world includes Luna still holding Nevilles hand, showing no remorse at all for Bellatrix Lestranges death that she caused.

Real life shows me Hermione scolding the blood-coughing Snape on the floor "Stupid git, you did not have to protect me, I can take care of myself!" all the while mindlessly stroking his lank hair and trying to tend to his wounds.

The Fletcher and the for once not completely useless seer arrive, who have truly magically managed to free Lupin and that Clares woman. It only takes a simple "Remus" from McGonagall to acknowledge the much-doubted worth of our rescue mission.

Then the imbodyment of all our fears, the personification of the devil, the symbol of evil, in other words the dark lord Voldemort, appears.

The unearthly red eyes burn deep into our lost souls. Searching for fear and bravery, for hate and love, for sin and innocence, for all those feelings that weaken us.

"Minerva" he hisses and then he laughs "I have known you when you were just a girl. I have seen you cry in a dark corner when your beloved father died. I have seen you hide in your books, escaping reality. You always tried to appear strong an infallible, so noone could see your fear, your doubts. You have not changed at all!

Do you remember, Minerva? Do you still know how it felt like, when we kissed?" I see how she frowns in disgust.

"Do you really think, that you can scare me? That I regard you as a threat? You are not the almighty Albus Dumbledore, you know? And even he proved to be able to die. You think your band of battered and beaten vagabonds can defeat me?" There are few things worse than Lord Voldemorts amusement. Right now I can think of none.

"But you do fear us." McGonagalls answering voice is only slightly quivering. "Why else would there be a wanted-list? It is not our strength you fear, it is what we symbolise, what we still mean to this world and its remaining decent beings. That we stand for hope, for a past where life was good and people were free. And whatever you might do to us, whether you torture or kill us, you can never destroy our meaning. As long as wizards and witches live, they will remember us and when they have found the strength, they will begin to fight you."

She reminds me of a stern and strict Transfigurations professor I used to have. And for one single moment Lord Voldemort is the scolded michiveous schoolboy.

But she is not Dumbledore, who told him that he was just a misguided boy, who did wrong, but could still turn back and who will be endlessly fighting the good otherwise.

What she tells him is more, she knows it is not her who matters, not us, but the whole wizarding world and that they will one day not only fight him, but that they and in a way we, will actually suceed. That it is the good side, that will win. And him who will loose.


End file.
